How to train your dragon ft Zhongli + fem!reader
cw/tags: dom bottom!reader and subtop!zhongli YEEAAAAH WE DOING THIS BABES. Collaring/Leash. pet play. primal play. praise kink. bit of shibari at the start. oral on reader.Zhongli has dragon features (horns/tail/tongue) but only 1 dick this time tho//hit.
notes: I ABSOLUTELY BLAME @zhxngii BECAUSE SHE AWAKENED MY INNER DOM. I DIDN'T KNOW I COULD DOM??? //HIT also @silentmoths bc together we brainrotted this idea I am so fucking WEAK for petplay dcbhbchjkancjak //rabid horny crys noises.
Light breathy moans escape your lips as you shift slightly against the bed headboard, back arching and biting your lip at the heated pleasure.
Your spread legs twitch a little as you groan, right hand tugging just slightly at the leash held in it. "Hng... fuck, t-that's a good boy..."
The pull of the collar around Zhongli's neck makes him press even closer against your pussy, licking and sucking more insistently at your wet folds. Long hair cascading down his back, though some strands drape around his shoulders and tickle at your skin.
You keen, free hand gripping so hard at the bed covers your knuckles turn white. The man buried between your legs dives in with as much raw passion as a certain determination. With his arms tied behind his back, Zhongli tilts his head for a better angle and his nose presses against your mound, sinful long tongue drawing wet stripes along your core and flicking at your clit, teasing the little pearl and earning him more of your sweet sounds.
The sight, coupled with the hot, wet slide of Zhongli's mouth steadily surrounding you, buzzes like electricity under your skin, leaving your fingers tingling and pooling more fire in your core.
"S-so good for me..." You can't help but roll your hips towards him, searching for that delicious friction. "So well trained and behaved hmmm-"
His long dragon tail sways after him at that.
Working his tongue sinuously against you. Each fluttering motion sends sparks up your spine, until your heart is pounding in your chest in anticipation and your head is swimming with arousal. Zhongli snakes that long dragon tongue inside you, probing carefully and slowly at your insides and feeling you clench. The motion has your thighs trembling and you let out a loud whine, unconsciously tugging at the leash again on reflex. Heat screws directly into your gut, surging with each swipe and flick of his tongue, dragging in and out of you, the wet muscle reaching deeper every time. Each little noise that falls from your mouth seems to spur him on, increasing his speed until your toes are curling at the sheets, body taut with pleasure.
"Yes, yes... oh! Ooohh... m-make me cum... and I'll let you- hng- fuck me. You want that don't you?" You coo, free hand releasing the sheets to instead curl around one of his golden antlers.
The reaction is instantaneous as Zhongli purrs.
"F-Fuck!" Waves of pleasure crash down on you at the vibrations against your sensitive folds, cresting higher each time, and you toss your head back. Skin burning, muscles trembling, breath stuttering until every sensation peaks abruptly with an obscene shuddering moan, leaving you helpless to keep from coming in Zhongli's mouth.
Distantly, you feel him growl against your pussy, retracting his tongue to slurp and lick at your juices instead like they’re the sweetest ambrosia.
You ride out the flood of heat, gasping for breath as your body slowly melts into relaxation, and when the tide recedes, you blink the dots out of your vision and look down to see the dragon lapping gently at your core, cleaning up your arousal. “Good boy...” You rasp, letting go of his antler to card your fingers along his dark hair, fingers massaging idly at his scalp.
Those bright golden eyes stare up at you with adoration and your heart flips in your chest.
Zhongli nuzzles at your inner thighs as you enjoy the fading glow of your orgasm before you start shifting and tug gently on his collar to make him pull back. He lets out a huff.
You sit up and surge forward, cupping his face in your hands. "Hmm, you really are so good for me, aren't you?" You nuzzle at him, planting kisses around his cheeks, his nose, his jaw. He sighs and relaxes, tail once again wagging after him. "My beautiful beloved dragon..." You nip at his neck and he inhales sharply. From the corner of your eye, you see his large erection twitch. Straining against his stomach and drooling tacky precum, the head flushed in a lovely dark color.
"Well, we made a deal, didn't we?" You whisper against his skin as your hand lowers down to rub against his length, giving him a couple of lazy strokes as he lets out a mix between a whine and a moan as his hips buckle against your hand. “You earned it…” You coo at his ear.
Even though he could have shredded them apart at any time, he lets you painstakingly undo the knots at his arms and unwind the rope from them. You rub and massage a little at the wrists and muscles, leaving another kiss at his forearm as he flexes them a little. In seconds you find yourself caged under his larger frame, pressed against the bed and crossing stares with him.
His golden eyes are feral, simmering under his skin you can almost feel the scales flickering to life, to burst free. The dragon claws and howls within its cage, every instinct carved within his ancient bones demanding he take action, demanding freedom from the confines of his mortal guise.To take him mate and claim you, breed you.
And yet he stays still. For you. Hanging on your words.
You stroke your hands along his skin, before going up and curling a finger around the collar, appreciating the lewd contrast of the black color against his skin. You fidget a little with it. “Do you want me to keep the leash on or not?” You ask coyly. “You can speak.”
“Anything you want.” He replies evenly.
You chuckle. “I am asking you though, this is your prize after all…”
He bends down a little until his forehead rests against yours. “My prize is you. In any way you’d have me.”
Your breath hitches at the sincerity and pure desire in his words.
“Keeping it on then…” You say, giving a quick peck against his lips before you shift and roll over, pulling a pillow closer to your chest, burying your cheek on it as you stare at him over your shoulder, hand pulling at said leash just a bit.
He straddles your legs and you feel his cock rub against your ass. His hands at both sides of you with one of them intertwining his fingers with yours.
“Now… give me a good fucking, my pet…”
You feel a clawed hand guiding your hips and finally, the blunt head of his cock prods at your entrance. Zhongli shoves forward and you gasp as he slips inside. Your walls stretch to accommodate him and you moan low in your chest from the steady drag, head falling forward. He doesn’t stop until he’s fully seated and you shiver at the sensation of being so full.
The hand at your hip slides underneath to press against your stomach and the sound that escapes you is pure sin. Zhongli seems to like it, since he presses harder and his hips jerk, shifting his cock inside you, giving aborted little thrusts and eliciting another high-pitched whine.
“D-don’t- Don’t tease me-!” You jerk the leash. His chest pressing against your back. “Behave.”
Zhongli nips at your shoulder and growls.
“Don’t get an attitude with me or I’ll change my mind.”
Zhongli grumbles low in his chest and your chuckle is cut short as he quickly pulls out and slams forward again before you can even process, you’re empty.
“Fuck-!”
Detaching from your back, he holds your hips again and thrusts once more, using his grip to drag you back against him, holding you there so you can feel every inch of his cock filling you up, rubbing and touching you so deeply it was too much and simply not enough. You gasp and whine, eyelids fluttering. Zhongli slides out, then back in, gaining speed with each tantalizing stroke until his pelvis is slapping loudly against your ass.
Every thrust snaps an electric spark as the dragon practically mounts you, rocking you against the mattress until your thighs are trembling and you’re muffling your moans and squeals against the pillow. Zhongli is panting above you, each rasping breath rattling with a gusty exhale, catching on the growl building within his chest. Blood pounding in your ears, heart rattling as his pace chases even faster, reaching a desperate frenzy; The hot rigid length filling you over and over again blurs into a steady, burning stream of sensation.
You let Zhongli use your body like a feral animal in rut, every thrust punching out a pitiful noise out of your lips, stars dancing in your eyes and heat surging until you’re nearly incoherent with it, drooling against the pillow.
Your trembling hand yanks weakly at the leash and his pace stutters, you call out to him with a whine, teary eyes begging at him and he surges forward in an open-mouthed kiss, filthy and clumsy with how you both are worked up right now.
“Good-” You choke out against his lips. “T-That’s a good boy, Li-”
He growls with satisfaction, losing his even rhythm as his thrusts become sloppy, recklessly slamming in and out of your warm heat. His tail wraps around one of your legs.
“Such a good pet for me-” Your nails dig into your palms, one of them tangled with the leash, the other held by Zhongli’s for dear life. “Come on… come on, Li… c-cum inside me-”
The dragon slams a few more times against you before burying himself completely inside, going rigid as a loud groan tears out through gritted teeth. You all but mewl at the familiar feeling of his hot cum seeping inside you, body shaking with your own release as the heat climbing through your body overflows with a blinding flash.
You whimper and whine as you ride the dizzying wave of pleasure, vision blurred, mouth hanging open.
Once the peak ebbs away, you’re left with trembling limbs and a heaving chest, sagging on the bed exhausted.
Zhongli gingerly slides out making you moan softly at the now unpleasant emptiness, your combined fluids running down your legs. You twist sluggishly onto your side and pull him down not by the leash this time, but by wrapping your arm around his shoulder. He presses and nuzzles against you and you let out a breathy tired chuckle. “Good boy…” You mumble.
He intertwines your hands again and pulls them up to kiss at the back of your hand, then your knuckles. “Hm… I do believe no one had ever called me those names before.”
Had you not been so tired, you’d be more embarrassed about the whole ordeal, but right now you can only manage a bashful smile. “Well… did the mighty lord of geo enjoy being my pet?” You ask, fingers tracing the black collar around his neck.
“I did.”
“You want to… try it again sometime?”
“If you want to.” He replies, his gaze warm and affectionate, scanning your face searchingly. “Did you enjoy it, my dear?”
You avert your eyes, a blush finally creeping in your face as the adrenaline washes off with the calm atmosphere. “I… really did.” Your hand moves up from the collar to his cheek. “You’re always so good to me, Li.”
“Hm, I simply love you. My mate…” Zhongli leans in close, the tip of his nose tracing a path along your cheek.
“I love you too.” You close the few inches of distance between your lips and kiss him, slow and meaningful.
He kisses back immediately, sinking into it with a low, throaty croon. Suddenly you find yourself on your back with him pushing you into the mattress, the leash and strands of his hair dangling over your sweaty skin, and his hips rolling up to yours.
You swat at his shoulder playfully. “No! Bad dragon! Insatiable-! That’s all you get!”
Zhongli chuckles, deep and rich voice making your heart skip. He nuzzles into the space between your shoulder and neck once more before pulling back and sitting up on the bed. “Let’s go take a bath, then.”
“Oh, so we’re back to you giving the orders? You’re still wearing the collar, you know?”
“I suppose I am. In that case, whatever my sweet mate demands…”
“A bath sounds good.” You chuckle. He nods and stands up, you get only a few seconds to admire his body before he picks you up, ignoring your squeal, and heads over to the bathroom. Hopefully, only to get cleaned up…
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Chapter 20
alright guys hit the showers. or the bathhouse. wait hold on i left my computer boy in there. guys wait don't open that
SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY
Some pre-chapter notes:
wow i wrote 10 pages for chapter 19 but i better take it easy so i dont burn out (writes 11 pages for chapter 20) anyway guess who's taking a break after this chapter
this is the one with togiri development but they're extremely not normal about it so it's almost blink-and-you-miss-it
@digitaldollsworld <- betapilled readmaxxer
Content warning tags: mild violence and injury description (non-graphic), description of depression symptoms and nausea, mild mention of eating disorder
< previous - from start - next >
He’s not sure how long he sleeps for, only that he wakes up still-dressed and laid out across his bed, his mouth dry and head groggy, the bedroom lights still on. As he checks his handbook’s clock, he finds he’s entirely missed Monokuma’s morning announcement, which is a good thing; he had no desire to listen to that bear’s irritating voice, especially not today.
But, he doesn’t have much desire to do anything else either. The library no longer feels like the safe haven it used to be, and he had no interest in going anywhere else and running into anyone else, when the atmosphere was still thick with the deaths of two people, and pity that Byakuya didn’t want. Much less, the possibility of encountering Makoto, who was the last person he wanted to see, so to speak.
He lies in bed a moment longer, unwilling to move. Everything feels sluggish, like he’s moving underwater; even his head feels stuffed full with cotton and wool. It's a strange, unfamiliar feeling, and unpleasant, too.
Grief. He thinks blearily at first, before rolling his own eyes at the thought, and pushing himself up with a grunt. Such dramatics didn’t suit him. He wasn't the kind of person to spare such theatrics, regardless of his circumstances.
He showers, brushes his teeth, and half-debates whether to try his hand at shaving before ultimately deciding against it (it didn’t feel like his stubble should be that noticeable, yet). He forgoes changing into a clean uniform in favor of his pajamas, and collapses back into bed with a sigh, hand searching immediately for his handbook - but finding nothing but empty sheets.
“Hello, there!”
He jerks upright immediately. Standing in the foot of his bed is Monokuma, rocking back and forth and looking as innocent as could be. Or, would be, if not for the handbook clutched in its paw.
Byakuya dives for it without thinking, but his perception is off, and he crashes to the carpet instead with a grunt. Monokuma sidesteps him casually with a laugh. “Whoa, there! Easy partner, don’t wanna hurt yourself!” It dances around his head, infuriatingly out of reach. “Didja miss me that bad? If you wanna hug, you can just say so!”
“Give it back,” He snarls, as he picks himself up. He’s in no mood for its jokes. “Give me back my handbook!”
“Your handbook? My my, but these were all mine first, weren’t they?” It shakes a paw disapprovingly in his face. “I just need to check it real quick, after all. I didn’t expect Mister Fujisaki to go and Macgyver anything onto here, so if it’s anything malicious, I’ll have to do a quick wipey-wipe!” Byakuya makes another lunge, and it juggles the handbook out of his reach, hopping backwards with a mad cackle. “After all, if it’s anything naughty, there’s no way I can let it fall in the hands of my precious students!”
“You miserable little-” Byakuya tries to rise to his feet quickly, but he hasn’t eaten since yesterday, and a bout of dizziness crashes into him like a wave. He sways and braces himself against the mattress, one arm still reaching out clumsily to try and grab at Monokuma.
But the bear has already flipped it open, scrolling so quickly through the screens that the little automated voice can’t keep up, the words blurring together. “Schoo-Stu-App-Day-”
“Whoops, too far.” It scrolls back. “Applications, that’s what we wanna see. And, what’s this?”
Byakuya feels his blood run cold. There was only one application there, the one Chihiro had downloaded for him. Alter Ego. The app was inconspicuously named ‘Test_App’ in the interface itself, but if Monokuma opened it-
“Well well well. Let’s take a look-see!” It crows, and Byakuya’s protest is frozen in his throat. He shuts his eyes, expecting to hear Chihiro’s voice-
“Black to E5.”
He opens his eyes again. What?
Monokuma also seems confused, tilting its head as it stares at the little screen. “What’s this? A chessboard?”
“Black to E5,” Alter Ego repeats, so digitized and monotone it was nearly unrecognizable. “Would you like to review the board?”
“Is this all it is? A chess game?” Monokuma sounds almost disappointed. Byakuya, seeing his chance, surges forward, snatching the handbook back and snapping it closed. He presses it to his chest, feeling his heart thud beneath it.
“Is that a problem?” He demands, and Monokuma shrugs, shaking its head.
“I guess not, but I thought it’d be something spicy, y’know? You’re a growing boy, after all!” It reaches out to pat Byakuya’s knee, and he steps backwards just in time, lip curling in disgust. “Aw, don’t act so mean to your headmaster, you’ll give me a complex!”
“Get out.” He hisses. “You got what you came here for. Leave.”
“Oh, alright…you sure know how to make a bear feel glum...” It sighs, kicking at the carpet, before it makes its way to the door. “Take care, now! Make sure you eat something, y’hear? I don’t want any hunger strikes in this house! And-”
No sooner had Monokuma crossed the threshold, had Byakuya jumped up, and sped forward to slam the door with a resounding bang. He takes a moment to breathe, leaning against the wall, legs suddenly weak.
How the hell did that thing get inside my room? He was sure he had locked the door - or he should have locked it, at least. Looking back, he actually can’t remember, but he double and triple-checks now, suddenly paranoid. He also flips off the light for good measure, leaving the room in complete darkness before he crawls back into bed.
Beneath the covers, he opens his handbook, and squints until he can make out the pale green shape of Alter Ego’s face on the screen.
“Is he gone?” Alter Ego asks, and Byakuya relaxes, the tension flooding out of his shoulders.
“Yes.” He whispers back.
Alter Ego makes a sound like a sigh of relief. “I’m glad. I got so scared when he grabbed me.” And its voice sounds so much like Chihiro's that Byakuya feels a strange pressure behind his eyes.
“How did you know?” He asks. “That Monokuma was there?”
“I could hear it. Through the microphone.” He reaches up and touches the tiny pinprick grid of the speaker, and feels the buzz of Alter Ego’s voice against his fingertips. “I didn’t want you to get in trouble.”
“Don’t worry about me. I think he would’ve just deleted you as punishment for me anyway.” He sighs. And then frowns, as a thought comes to mind. “If you could eavesdrop from the microphone this whole time, then you already know…?”
He doesn’t finish his sentence. But he doesn’t need to. Alter Ego makes a quiet noise like a sigh. “Yes, I know.”
“I’m sorry.” And he’s surprised to find that he means it genuinely, and almost laughs at himself. Heartfelt apologies were rare for him, and here he was offering one to an AI, of all things.
“It’s okay. He knew it might happen,” Alter Ego replies, and he imagines it might be smiling, a sad, helpless smile. “There’s nothing we can do about it now.”
“No, I suppose not.”
They’re quiet for a moment. In the darkness, Byakuya can almost pretend that he’s normal - unable to see in the dark as everyone else is. But it’s also the middle of the day, and he’s too restless to sleep, too uneasy to go outside. Too tired to mourn. Too mournful to do anything else.
“Can you really play chess?” He asks instead.
“I can, along with checkers, shogi, and backgammon and more.”
“Play a round of chess with me, then. I’m bored.”
“Okay!” Immediately, the pale blot of their face on the screen is replaced by a square. “I’ll play black. What’s your first move?”
He smiles to himself. “E2, pawn to E4.”
—
Hours pass like that. He plays chess with Alter Ego (three wins, four losses, and seven draws), and a few rounds of shogi (one win, one loss, and two draws) for good measure. And then, huddled over his desk with his back facing the camera, he pores over lines of Dostoevsky and Nietzsche until he feels too sick from staring at the letters to even hear Alter Ego’s voice, reciting the words aloud beneath a dim ringing in his ears.
By the time he’s pulled out of his concentration by the sound of a knocking at his door, he’s too nauseous to feel hungry, but his throat is stinging from lack of water and there’s a slight pulsing in his head. His immediate first reaction is to ignore it, but that proves to be impossible; whoever was on the other side was clearly, very persistent, and had nothing better to do.
Even so, he lasts a full five minutes until he finally gets up to answer, irritated beyond measure. If it was Makoto, he was going to slam it closed again, reasons be damned. He didn’t even want to think about the other boy, lest he get pointlessly enraged about it.
But instead of brown hair, he’s met with pale white. Kirigiri stands at his threshold, hand partially raised, halfway through knocking, and they stare at each for a moment in silence, as if both surprised to find the other person there.
And then he slams the door shut in her face. Or tries to - instead of the satisfying bang of wood meeting wood, there’s a sickly crunch, and then she’s wrenching the door open, heedless of the way her fingers had just been crushed in the jamb. He almost winces in sympathy, but she’s too busy pushing her way in to offer much room for condolences.
“What is wrong with you?!” He demands, trying not to be too obviously perturbed by her lack of reaction; he doesn’t think he even heard her wince. She ignores him for a moment, attention focused on her hand, as she experimentally clenches and unclenches her fingers. Apparently they’re not broken, or maybe, she just had high pain tolerance. Or she was more insane than he thought.
“We’re calling a group meeting,” She replies, without so much as a waver. “Come to the bathhouse.”
“And why should I?”
“It’s important. I can drag you there if I have to.” It doesn’t sound like an empty threat either. Somehow, she seems impatient, though he’s not sure how he can tell; and it wasn’t just because she shoved her hand into the door in order to deliver the message.
He weighs his options - on one hand, he has no desire to speak with anyone, much less Makoto, who was bound to be there. On the other hand, he didn’t exactly have anything in the way of provisions in his room, and though he was still a little too light-headed to consider eating, it’d be embarrassing to collapse from dehydration at this point. That, and it seemed that Kirigiri had no intention of letting him refuse.
“...I’m going to get dressed first.” He says shortly. If he’s going to have to meet them, it will not be while he’s still in his pajamas.
“Hurry up.”
She makes no move to leave, and he realizes with no small amount of annoyance that she was making sure he wouldn’t be able to run or shut her out again. Somewhat affronted by this, and now wanting to go even less, he grabs a clean set of clothes from his dresser and goes to the bathroom.
Routine carries his hands through the motions, so he manages it relatively quick, but it’s only after he’s applying the finishing touches, that he nearly pokes himself in the eye as he reaches to adjust his glasses. It’s a strange sensation, feeling the bridge of his nose and finding nothing, and even though his original prescription was low and they were more an accessory than anything, he feels a little like he’s lost a limb.
She’s still there when he emerges, though now standing over his desk, bent over the books he has open. She looks up as he approaches, one hand halfway through turning a page.
“What?” He asks, chin turned up in challenge.
“Nothing. Just looking.” She closes the book, and he realizes, scandalized, that it was the one he was reading earlier. It was going to take him ages to find that page again. “You have predictable tastes.”
“Shut up. Are we going or not?”
He follows her out, his hands twitching all the while, smoothing down his shirt, his lapels, his sleeves. Making sure his buttons were lined up, that his shirt was tucked; he hadn’t had the time to put on garters or even try a hand at his tie, and he feels underdressed.
“You’re fine.” Kirigiri says suddenly, and he freezes, one hand resting on the button of a shirt cuff. “Stop fidgeting.”
He scowls. He was walking behind her, so what would she know. “I’m not fidgeting.”
“I can hear you fidgeting. Your buttons are fine.”
“Oh, can you hear my buttons now too?”
It’s a petty, childish remark, one that he can’t stop himself from muttering before he can even reconsider it. She stops at that, halting so suddenly in the middle of the hallway that he almost walks right into her, and turns around to face him, her head moving in a slow tilt from up to down - scanning me, he realizes - before she says: “You look fine. Are you quite done?”
She was checking for me. He’s not sure if he should feel grateful for the courtesy or irritated by her lack of grace. “Did the sound bother you that much?” He asks instead, patting down the front of his shirt one last time.
“...It wasn’t the sound.” Is all she says, with a sort of finality that indicated that no other questions would be answered on the topic.
They enter the bathhouse, and find everyone else there, gathered in a sort of semi-circle around the wall of lockers. Asahina and Ogami, predictably, are huddled close together on one of the benches. Celeste and Yamada sit on another bench, one fidgeting uneasily, the other sitting regally with legs crossed and hands folded. Hagakure is standing next to Owada, who doesn’t even stir when they walk in, and who Byakuya ignores in turn, gaze sliding past him uncomfortably. Fukawa hangs near the back of the group, and twitches when she sees him, though makes no move to approach.
Makoto is leaning against the lockers with hands tucked in his pockets. He looks up as they enter, and stands up straight immediately. “Ah-”
“We’re all here?” Kirigiri cuts him off, casting a glance around the room. “Good. Can you catch him up, Hina?”
“R-right,” Asahina looks between Kirigiri and Byakuya, then at Makoto, and seems to hesitate for a moment. “Um, so…last night, I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d go to the kitchen to get food. But on the way there, I heard something coming from the bathhouse - like, a weird, machine-y kind of sound? - and when I went in…”
She peters off. He raises an eyebrow, “And?”
“Uh, it’s going to sound a little ridiculous...”
“You act like nothing else is ridiculous about this situation. Get on with it.”
Her face flushes dark, embarrassed. He gets the feeling that Ogami is glaring at him, but since he can’t see it - and has no reason to act like he can see it, anyways - he ignores it easily.
“Right. I saw a ghost - I know it was a ghost,” She adds defensively, as Byakuya was preparing to scoff and roll his eyes. “It was glowing green and floating in front of the lockers, and…and it had Chihiro’s face.”
“That’s-” not a ghost, he’s about to say, but he stops, suddenly uncertain. The bathhouse had no cameras, but he wasn’t sure if Alter Ego’s existence should be revealed here, now, to everyone, especially given some of the individuals present. His hand reaches into his jacket pocket, where his handbook was. “That’s…and you’re sure it was Chihiro?”
She seems taken aback by how seriously he asks that, and nods quickly. “I know it was Chihiro! It was his face and everything!” She points in front of her, at a locker less than two meters away from her eye level. The exact locker, Byakuya thinks, where Chihiro was keeping his laptop.
He wonders if Makoto was thinking this too.
“...I highly doubt the existence of ghosts,” He sighs. There was no point trying to hide it with Kirigiri around, and better to do it now than later. “Instead of being in front of the locker, I think the thing you saw was inside it.”
He turns to the locker Asahina had indicated, and moves to unlock it - before realizing he doesn’t know how. If it was unlocked by key, he didn’t have it, and if by code it was even more impossible. But Kirigiri steps forward, nudging his arm out of the way, and the locker door clicks open under her hand.
Sitting inside is the laptop, its screen dark. After a moment, it hums to life, flickering green. A round, pale shape forms, and behind him, Byakuya hears someone gasp.
“Hello,” Alter Ego says, and their voice is clearer through the computer than through Byakuya’s handbook, and sounds so similar to Chihiro’s that it’s almost jarring. “It’s nice to meet everyone!”
Hagakure shrieks, arms thrown up in fear. “A g-g-gh-!”
“It’s not a ghost,” Byakuya cuts him off sharply. “It’s a program.”
“Yes, and it looks like something Chihiro made.” Kirigiri touches the keys lightly. “This computer was the broken one from the library. And the fact that it was placed here, out of sight of the mastermind, means that it was meant for us.”
“So, this is what I saw last night…” Asahina’s tone doesn’t sound uneasy anymore, but wondering, and she raises a tentative hand as the little Chihiro in the screen waves at her. “But, what is it?”
“You just asked, ‘what is it,’ right?” Alter Ego says, almost teasingly, making her and several others jump. “The short answer is, I’m an AI program based on as much of Chihiro Fujisaki’s personality, memories, and thoughts as he managed to transcribe into data…um, but if it’s easier for you, you can call me Alter Ego. I was made to try and break through the firewall around the school’s network and to analyze the files on this computer, but it’s been taking a long time. I’m only about 25% done.”
25%? That was already more than Byakuya expected, and he feels a thin, inexplicable strum of pride.
“Crazy…hey, isn’t this crazy?” Yamada is up from his seat, and sitting as close as he can, crouching on his heels to be eye-level with the screen. “This is so- so totally sci-fi, right? Isn’t the genre wrong?” He sounds excited, overly so, and his breath is a little fevered and fast. “Hey, Chihiro! Can you hear us?”
Alter Ego doesn’t respond. Byakuya suddenly remembers the night that Chihiro was installing the application on his handbook and how Alter Ego only ever responded after the sound of keystrokes. “You have to type what you want to say in order for it to respond.”
“Move.” Yamada scurries out of Kirigiri’s way, as she drops to a crouch in front of the open locker. There’s the sound of fingers clicking over keys, and then -
“It will take me a while longer to finish analyzing everything,” Alter Ego says aloud, a little sheepishly. “I can definitely finish it though! Actually, progress is moving faster than originally predicted, so you can leave it to me!”
“My, how dependable.” Celeste remarks. “It seems that Chihiro has left us an invaluable gift, does it not?”
“It’s…pretty crazy,” Hagakure agrees, scratching his head. “Wait, uh - can Alter Ego get online? Like can we call for help from outside?”
“Hmm, probably not.” Asahina hums in thought, crossing her arms. “We’re in a bathhouse after all.”
“Then, if we take it outside of here-”
“No.” Kirigiri says flatly. “We can’t take any risks. Taking it outside might mean that the mastermind will discover it.”
“Yeah, but, I think it’s better to get help sooner than later. You know…” He pauses for a moment, tilting his head pointedly towards Owada. Throughout this whole time, the Ultimate Biker Gang Leader had been as still as a mouse, face turned downwards towards the floor. Hagakure clears his throat awkwardly. “Can’t we try it?”
There’s a sharp tap as Celeste laces her fingers, rings clicking together. “As stated earlier. We cannot take unnecessary risks. And we are not in the position to be pointlessly altruistic.” Her tone is casual, but Hagakure seems to shrink away from her, defeated.
“I…okay. Fine, sure.” He scratches at his head, then pauses. “Ah, wait a minute. Does Alter Ego, like, know…?
His question peters off, but the implication hangs over them like a heavy fog. Byakuya watches them cast uneasy glances at each other, then back to Alter Ego, as if trying to figure out who should break the news.
“It already knows.” He mutters. He’s not trying to be loud, but in the silence everyone could hear it anyways.
“...Not to say you’re lying or anything, Byakuya, but how do you…?”
Instead of answering Hagakure out loud, he reaches into his jacket pocket and withdraws the handbook, flipping it open and holding it up, screen facing them. Someone gasps.
“Yes,” Alter Ego confirms their unspoken question, and its voice echoes uncannily, doubled between the laptop and his handbook. “Master made it so I can be accessed through Byakuya’s handbook, so I could assist him with his visual impairment. I can also access the microphone function on this device, so I was able…I was able to overhear what happened”
The little, buzzing voice trails off sadly, and Byakuya suddenly feels uncomfortable, as the room grows all the more dreary. He clicks the handbook closed, suddenly irritated.
“That should explain it.“ He sighs. “Chihiro built Alter Ego to try and help find a way out of here, and at the same time gave me access so I could be self-sufficient. That’s the extent of my knowledge about it.”
He looks up and finds nearly all of them with their faces tilted towards him, and shifts, disconcerted. “What?”
“Nothing…it’s just kinda sweet that you’re, like, telling us this yourself.” Hagakure, ridiculously, sounds almost happy about this. “You never really talked to us about yourself before.”
“There’s no point in being secretive about it. Not when I was already forced to reveal it during the trial.” He sniffs. Immediately, Hagakure looks away, chagrined. From Byakuya’s periphery, he can see Makoto still facing away, his ears turning pink.
Kirigiri clears her throat. “...For the time being, it’s clear that we need to ensure Alter Ego remains a secret from the mastermind.” She says, and Byakuya watches as she types something out, a thick line of black characters. Every few keystrokes, she stops, and deletes the last word in a series of light clicks; listening closer, the sound was awkward and irregular, each press slurring into the next key. With a slight twinge of guilt, he realizes that the cause of it was her left hand - the one he had practically crushed.
After a moment’s consideration, weighing his conscience with what was at stake, he nudges her slightly with his knee. “Move. You type too slow.”
“And how would you know that?”
“I can hear it.” He replies flatly. “You type like you’re all thumbs. Move over.”
He half-expects her to stay where she is, to ignore him and continue, but to his surprise she actually complies, standing up and stepping aside. He crouches into the space she had just abandoned, sliding his hands over the keyboard until his index fingers find the tiny, tell-tale grooves of the position keys. The size and dimensions are different from his computer at home, but for a moment the feeling is so familiar that he’s almost nostalgic.
“What did you want to ask again?”
“If it has any contingency measures in place for if Monokuma - or the mastermind, or anyone suspicious - happens to find it.”
His fingers skim over the keys, clicking fluidly. A thin line of black appears at the bottom of the screen in time to his movements, but he can’t confirm if the output is accurate; judging by the way Makoto gasps behind him, and the way Hagakure whistles, he can guess that it’s more or less correct.
“Impressive,” Celeste says, in an appreciative tone. “I suppose being such an esteemed heir means you have many talents.”
He can’t tell if she’s mocking him, so he decides to ignore her, though he allows himself a small amount of smugness. He finishes typing: “Is this what you wanted to ask?”
Instead of replying, Kirigiri leans over his shoulder and clicks the ‘enter’ button. After a moment’s pause:
“Hm, to be honest, so far I’ve just been trying to be reeeally careful with when I’m active…though I guess that backfired last night, with me scaring Aoi.” Alter Ego hums in thought. “But, I do have a secret plan! If anyone comes around who I don’t recognize on my webcam…I’ll scream super loud!”
“That’s so basic!” Asahina blurts out, shocked by the simple nature of it.
“Yes, and it’s not likely to work at night.” Ogami grumbles. “The bedrooms are soundproofed.”
“Maybe we can try taking turns staying up?” Makoto suggests. “I can take the first night, I don’t mind…”
“I think such a sudden change in our patterns is likely to draw suspicion from the mastermind. Which would be rather counterproductive.” Celeste says, and Makoto ducks his head immediately. “Though, your thoughtfulness is appreciated.”
“Then it can’t be helped.” Kirigiri sighs. “I’ll leave my door open. I’m at the end of the hallway anyways, so if anything happens, I should be able to react the quickest.”
What a crazy woman. “You’d leave yourself vulnerable?” He scoffs. After all the precautions he’s seen her take, it’s hard to imagine her sacrificing herself to any degree.
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take. Besides, I’m not so helpless. I have no intention of going down without a fight.” She pauses, mouth open like she’s about to say more, before she decides against it. “Anyways. We should avoid any mention or contact with Alter Ego as much as possible, to draw as little attention as we can.”
She claps her hands sharply, a sound that makes more than one person jump, and makes Byakuya almost flinch. “For the time being…let’s disperse.”
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Unnecessary discussion about Chat Noir and the Drums
There’s something I love so much about Chat playing the drums in Horrificator. This is something that’s been on my mind since I was 13, so hold on here.
First, obviously, Adrien also plays the piano - which obviously still has a lot of meaning!! - I’m not here to diss on the piano, there’s a lot of freedom of expression in every instrument type and music expression in general, but there’s a reason why some people are more inclined to different instruments, and I think there’s a lot more to it than just sound, but feeling as well. The role you play. How it feels to play it alone vs. playing it with others, if it’s typically something that you can play alone vs. in a group.
So first, the piano, and how I think it relates to Adrien’s character, plus how it relates to those points.
The piano, let’s be real, is something that a lot of us were forced to take lessons for at some point. It’s something that has ties to high society (there’s a HUGE discussion and so much more to say about that, but let’s not go there) and honestly?? I think it works pretty well with symbolizing the obsession with perfection that Gabriel shoves onto him. I’ve known many piano players, and while some genuinely loved playing it, it was always easier to somehow stumble onto someone with a deep hatred for it after being forced into lessons. Whenever I asked them why they hated it, I got almost the same answer every time: “I need to be perfect.” (Along with people saying that they were forced to lol)
Then there’s the role you play. You can play with people in a band, an orchestra, as an accompanist, a duet, at a bar with a bunch of people singing - whatever - music has many forms, and many different connections. But the piano is something you can play solo, no need for anyone else. It isn’t what you can do with other people that I’m focusing on for this, it’s the fact that you don’t need anyone. You can play alone, and it’ll still be fine. You can be alone, and you’re still fine - perfect even - which is something that Gabriel shoves down his throat, resistant to him playing with his friends by touching on this ideology.
Which is a glimpse into how he sees Adrien, and how Adrien experiences life. He can be alone, in fact he’s more perfect when he’s alone. And when other people are added, the attention to his perfection is taken away bit by bit, until he’s not good enough. He has to play solo in concert halls, on stage for everyone to watch, not in the back of a bar, playing with his friends.
Alright, so now we move to Chat Noir and the drums. The main play of this fake essay.
It would be so easy to just ignore everything and just go “haha, he’s the energetic one, so ofc Ladybug gave him the drums! And they’re an easy instrument to play, etc.” but that’s far from the truth.
Ok, so I’m not a drum player or percussionist in any way, but I am a bass player, and genuinely love the drums so much because they’re incredibly important, and here’s my cheesy analogy: the drums are the heart of the band, keeping everyone on beat, it’s what you feel at the centre of it all. The band is nothing without the drums, without the percussion (The bass is what connects the band to the beat of the drums, kinda like the blood vessels, but sadly this ain’t about bass). Like do you know how easy it is for a band to fall apart if they don’t have a drummer??? You need a drummer. You literally can’t survive without a drummer, because even if you manage to work together, use the bass as a backing, whatever you try, there’s still not much of a heart left.
But besides that, do you know how hard it is to play the drums??? You can’t just throw someone crazy, or energetic there just because “crazy drummers lol” you need someone who listens. Who can set the beat. Someone you can rely on, because they are the person in control, even if they aren’t as flashy as the guitar player. Reliable is the word that comes to mind. The drums can make or break a band.
And wanna know who that reminds me of?
Yeah. I highly doubt that the writers put this much thought into a random five second scene in an episode of season one, but it fits with Chat Noir SO well.
Unlike the piano, the drums are almost solely played in a group setting - you need other people, and other people need you - he needs other people in his life, his friends are needed, but they also need him. Ladybug needs him, along with all the other heroes in Paris, whether he sees it or not. He seems to get in a state of thinking he’s not needed, but i do really think he’s the emotional glue that keeps the team connected, the heart that keeps them beating. If he’s isolated, he can’t quite reach his full potential that he can when he’s allowed to be around others, just like they can’t reach their own without him.
But on top of that, I think the stereotypes of the drums actually works in his favour for the next part.
Breaking free from his dad, and being his own person, letting that fame go and embracing what he wants... well, to some that would look stupid.
Relating it to music, the piano is flashy, you can play it solo, it sounds impressive, looks impressive, and people won’t think you’re just hitting pots and pans in the garage when you say you play it. But the drums are underestimated, a lot of people think you don’t need much practice, that they’re just the guys who sit at the back of the stage, not doing much, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.
Just like Adrien finally being who he wants wouldn’t be stupid, it could never be stupid, but there’s a stigma. But letting go of his flashy, solo life, and being the heart of his friend group is something that I think makes him truly happy as Chat Noir, and hopefully he gets to be like that as Adrien too.
Like Plagg said, Chat Noir and Adrien are both the real him, and I think the drums capture that perfectly. The heart and freedom, the meticulousness (rather than perfection) and steadiness, those are good qualities of a drummer.
I dunno, I just think it fits.
(sdfghjklkjhgf again I should state that acoustic versions of songs exist, and you can play songs without a drum and it sounds fantastic, but I’m not going into that today. Just talking generalization, and playing in a group setting).
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